Demons Haunting
by Haunted Obsidian
Summary: Potter knows his secrets now and there's nothing he can do to stop the floodgates that have been opened. Snape centric.
1. The Beginnings of a Tremor

**Title: House of Pain, Eyes of Sorrow**

**Genre: Book/Movie**

**Category: Harry Potter**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own it. The precious rights belong to JKR. My apologies.**

**Summary : Potter knows his secrets now; and there's nothing he can do to stop the floodgates that have been opened. Snape centric.**

**Warnings: Mild language and violence (possibly graphic), as well as child abuse. You've been warned.**

**Rating : T **

**Chapter 1: The Beginnings of a Tremor**

The bottoms of his robes billowed out behind him in their characteristic fashion, his hands clasped together tightly behind his back as he paced back and forth across the dimly lit room. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched tight, forcing the muscles in his partially sunken cheeks to become even more visible. His strides were long and brisk, though the spider-like qualities he possessed were starting to show themselves.

His seemingly endless pools of darkness that some would presume to be eyes were as hollow and empty as ever; flashes of anger or perhaps hatred being the only signs of life within them. His footsteps echoed listlessly against the vile-lined walls of the room, his pace never faltering.

"I don't believe this!" he hissed to himself, his eyes narrowing once more. "How—how could I have let this happen? Damn that pathetic Potter and his lessons!" His breath was becoming more shallow the faster he paced, his knuckles clenched so tightly together that they had turned a sickening shade of white, ghastly for even the sallow-skinned Potions Master. He didn't even voice pain as his brittle nails cut into his flesh, small droplets of blood trickling down his shaking hands.

His heart was pounding, though possibly not as loud as the ache that was storming through his head. He clenched his teeth so hard he was sure a few of them had broken inside his mouth, though as the moment, he could have cared less.

The anger that had so recently surfaced was still growing, if that were at all possible. He could feel it burning throughout his veins, threatening to force itself out of his skin one way or another. A vein throbbed in his neck, pulsating faster and faster with each new footfall.

Memories that he had pushed away to the far side of his mind, memories that he was so sure he had locked away and burned, found their way back to the front of his mind, teasing him ever so gently with their presence. But he was not one to be fooled, he knew they were there, mocking him with all the authority that they held over him. And all he could do was watch, helpless to the fact that they would not silence themselves any longer.

He was like a volcano on the edge of erupting, and though throwing the cockroaches across the room and scaring the wits out of his much loathed student released some of the anger, it didn't make it subside either. His fingertips felt like they were on fire, his forehead throbbing. He didn't even flinch as glass and a few mangled cockroaches crunched underneath his feet; he just turned on his heal and strode towards the other side of the room.

His eyes unfocused before, now took attention of the Pensieve that still sat on the edge of his desk. The Potions Professor could feel the heated anger singe his nerves as he made his way towards the cause of his madness. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he swung his arm out in a wave of fury, knocking the medium-sized object off his desk, sending it crashing to the floor.

He stood there, momentarily frozen. His eyebrows descended further as he saw that indeed, none of the contents had spilled to the floor, but were merely skipping along its mysterious surface. He stood transfigured to the floor, gaping in horror as what felt like a tidal wave of ice flooded over his body and sent him crumbling down to his knees.

Without a reason or any thoughts to back him up, he stared into the swirling mist, terror befuddling his eyes. He knew better than to take such action, but for some reason, the calculating, rational voice that always told him what to say or do, evaporated before his presence, forcing him to act without thinking about the consequences first. What lay before him sickened him—disgusted him, but he could do no more than stare down at it and watch the unruly scene unfold as he felt the familiar feeling of being sucked down into a tunnel. Only the light at the end of this one was not good or angelic. No, this one was taking him straight to Hell.

_The small house, barely standing by the looks of it, came into full view. He loathed it at once. The familiar dull, grey sky (as he saw it, even though the sun was shining amidst the others scattered about), and the eerie silence that always seemed to come before the storm. Before he knew it, he was in a small room, mostly bare, with only a small rocker and a threadbare, worn couch in the corner. There was no television, no radio, no silly Muggle inventions; though there weren't any magical ones either. The walls were empty, completely devoid of any signs of life or living presence. And the light bulb that hung dangerously above in the center of the small room had stopped working properly ages ago._

_He braced himself, knowing all too well what was going to play out in front of his eyes; and once again the feeling of utter helplessness took control. He watched as his younger self, a raven haired boy about the age of five stared out a cracked window (the only one in the room), peering up at an ageless sky that held no bounds. At that moment, he recalled the exact fantasy that was playing through his head at the time, though unfortunately, that fantasy was soon to be short lived._

_The silence of the room was broken as a fragile figure was pushed in, causing both heads to turn in the individual's direction. All at once, emotions that he hadn't felt in years intruded his senses, forcing their way in whether Snape liked it or not. He stood pale faced as he watched his younger self pull himself up from his perch at the window, fear already a staple in the youth's onyx eyes._

_His small legs carried him over to the crumpled figure that laid on the floor._

"_Mum," his small voice whispered, brushing a familiar curtain of dark, greasy hair out of her lifeless eyes. "Mum, are you--"_

"_Don't touch her, you filthy little prat!" a voice boomed from just beyond the door. "You won't touch her if you know what's good for you, you little mutt!" _

_The small boy cringed at the sound of his father's voice, an immediate indication that peace would not be near him for days to come. He closed his eyes tight, preparing for the slap that was about to erupt across his face, and sure enough, within seconds, it was there, a red mark the size of his father's rather large hand. The force of it alone knocked the small child back aways from his mother who had managed to push herself up into a sitting position, tears streaming down her sunken and pale cheeks. _

"_Please, Tobias, don't! He doesn't know! Please!" she begged, at her husband's feet, her hands clasped together tightly as though she were praying. _

"_Oh, is that right? He doesn't know, does he? Well, what a pity for him, eh?" he mused, a deranged smile playing about his lined features. "Well, Eileen, how about you tell the boy then?" he urged, his voice holding a quiet casualness as though he were talking about the weather. _

"_Tobias, please, no, he doesn't--"_

_Her pleads were cut off by another smack, only this time, it was against her skin, which within itself looked like a used cutting board. Fresh drops of blood snaked their way down the corners of her mouth, after effects from biting her lip and tongue._

"_What—are you crying over there?" the tall man exclaimed, his eyes wondering viciously over to his son who was huddled in the corner, too afraid to move, let alone speak. "I'm talking to you, boy! Now answer me! Are you crying?" he taunted menacingly, his black eyes shining despite the curtain of hate that hung in them._

"_Y-Y-yes, Father," the young Severus mumbled truthfully, endless tears rolling off his cheeks and littering the dirty floor below. _

_The elder Severus could feel the bile rise in his throat, though he knew he was stuck, forced to watch this twisted game play out once more._

"_I thought you remembered the rules of this house, Severus. One being the fact that no son of mine CRIES! Do you hear me?" he spat angrily, carelessly stepping away from the woman that he had begging on her knees to the small child that lay huddled in the opposite corner. Without warning, he pulled the boy up by the worn collar of his t-shirt, forcing him to his feet. Without so much as a glance, he turned abruptly, dragging the poor child behind him._

"_Tobias, I beg you, please, he's not yet old enough—"_

"_Silence!" the black haired man commanded, striking the woman again. "This boy is plenty old enough to know what he is, isn't that right, Severus?" he questioned, flashing the young boy his yellowed teeth. When he received no response, he dug his hand into the child's head of hair, yanking the boy's head closer to his. "Take a good look at your mother, Severus. Does she look different to you?" His voice was laden with silk and spite, not to mention utter contempt. _

"_N-n-no," young Severus stuttered, unable to meet his father's death gaze. He could feel the grip on his hair tighten as he realized that was not a good enough answer._

"_Well, how about if I told you that good ol' mummy's a witch! Does that make her look any different now?" he hissed, the elder Severus instantly recognizing the tone, one that he seemed to use himself whenever he chose to chastise a student._

_The young Severus' eyes filled with more tears, knowing that the answer he was about to give would not be acceptable nor meet his father's standards._

"_N-no," he replied, his voice hovering on the edge of a whisper. "S-she l-looks the s-s-same to m-me," he murmured, thinking that if the grip on his hair got any tighter, surely his hair would fall right out._

"_Does she really?" the taller man taunted, his yellow teeth baring through his thin lips. "So you fancy the idea of her being a witch, do you? You want to grow up and be just like her, eh? Well, that, my boy, can be arranged!" he yelled, throwing the child across the room, laughing as he landed on the floor with a dull thud. The elder Severus could see the small pool of crimson start to puddle around his younger self, he shuddering involuntarily in the process._

"_Now, Eileen, do you see what a fine little Prince you've got there?" he laughed wickedly, a maniacal smile spreading about his face. "Oh, look at that, he bleeds just like you do," he taunted, jerking his wife's head in the direction of their son who was still lying semi-conscious on the floor. "And since he wants to be just like his filthy witch of a mother, he shall be treated exactly the same! I do wonder if he'll try to babble about as you do when you're receiving your punishments, dear. Let's see, hmm?"_

_And with that, the elder Severus watched as his younger self was beaten, repeatedly kicked and punched into oblivion until he was conscious no more, his mother's screams and pleas fading into the background of his mind. It had been something he'd locked away ever since._

Snape immediately felt the urge of being pulled up once more, though instead of materializing in his office, he was loaded into another memory, one a few years later than the previous' day and age. He cursed himself silently for having to pull out more than one.

_He was back at the house: house, for you could call it no home due to the fact that no actual family lived there. It was the lifeless being who claimed to be his mother, himself, and a man that assumed the role of father, though he did not act as one._

_He was inside the house again, but this time he was in the lavatory; unfortunately for him, the only one in the house. Dirt and grime caked the linoleum covered floors, and dust grew in thickets along the window sill. A spider was quickly spinning a web in the corner nearest young Severus, who was perched atop the toilet seat (lid down, of course) with a book balanced between his knees. The elder looked on, silently thinking—no, knowing that the Crucitaus curse would be less painful than what he was about to witness. He remembered having to hide in there to prevent his father from seeing his mother's old magic books he had found in the basement. And this time was no different than the rest, with the exception of being caught, that is._

_The elder Severus' heart unknowingly ached in his chest as he observed his younger self wrapped up in the magic spells within the old and worn spine. Across the front in faded gold letters the title read "A History of the Dark Arts and its Defenses". He loved that book, and had surely read it more times than he could remember, but the feeling he received each time he opened the mysterious volume brought unwanted tears to his eyes now for he knew the fate in which he and it would suffer._

_Without even a chance given whatsoever to hide, the rickety door burst open, almost falling off its hinges from the force, the trespasser eying the young boy hastily. Though this time, Severus did not cringe or flinch when he saw those dark, empty eyes; he merely shut the book and kept his own eyes glued to the floor, his brain working a mile a minute, his mouth as silent as ever._

"_So, I see you thought you found the perfect spot, hmm? Thought that I wouldn't figure out what you were doing in here for hours on end, perhaps? My boy, surely you know that I am smarter than that; and quite frankly, I'll always be a hell of a lot smarter than you! Even your mother isn't this thick, trying to hide things from me like this! Still want to be a little witch I see?" his cold voice taunted the nine year old, who was fighting desperately to keep the stray tears concealed in his eyes._

"_What's this?" he questioned, stepping further into the neglected room, "Are those tears? Are you going to cry?" His voice could almost be deemed evil if not for the calmness and easiness of it. "Severus, Severus, what ever are you so afraid of? Surely not me when you have all those pathetic spells right at your fingertips!" he laughed, yanking the large tome out of the boy's small hands. "Hmm, let's see here," he began, his tone laden thick with sarcasm. "Ooh, look, why it's a temporary—invisibility—spell," he stated dryly, emphasizing every word of the incantation's title._

_The young boy could feel the sweat bead upon his forehead, his eyes growing wider by the minute. If his heart were beating any faster, surely it would beat right out of his chest. He swallowed the mouthful of saliva that had built up on his tongue, fear gnawing at his heart. Dread became seemingly inevitable as he watched his father carelessly turn the pages, a ripping sound reverberating throughout the humid and dim room._

"_Ah yes, I believe your mother may have tried this one on me before, a vanishing spell; but it didn't work now, did it? What a pity," he mumbled out the corner of his mouth, his voice as sardonic as ever. "And as I suspected, you'll probably be just as talented as her, a failure in every sense!" he shouted, slamming the book shut and pulling a lighter out of his pocket, a demented grin lighting up his hard face._

_A few tears escaped the small boy's eyes. Absentmindedly, he reached out for the precious volume of spells, all the while knowing in the back of his mind that the gesture would be futile. He watched in horror as his father lit the old book, tiny flames licking at the corners of the worn and yellowed pages. Suddenly, an anger flooded through the boy like he never felt before. It was as though the flames were burning him instead, lighting the anger inside of him, searing him from limb to limb. Without realizing it, he ran forward, his hands clasping onto the inflamed book, trying his best to seize it. _

"_You actually think you're strong enough to take this from me? Ha, you've got some nerve, boy! Too thick for your own good!" he yelled, smacking young Severus across the face with the burning volume of spells, singing strands of his hair in the process. "Just like your mother! You never know when to quit!" he barked, pushing his son to the floor, more laughter flooding from his lips. _

_The older man paced around the child, licking his thin lips manically, eying the child vicariously. "You know, I don't think this is burning fast enough, perhaps this'll help," he remarked, pulling out a small bottle of alcohol from a nearby cabinet. Flashing another devious grin, he casually tossed the flaming book into the dirty trash bin, pouring the flammable substance all over it. His grin widened as larger flames danced before their eyes. "Ah, yes, that's much better," he added, grabbing the young child by the hair and shoving his face towards the flames. "You didn't need that silly little book anyways, now, did you?"_

_The young Severus bit his lip, blood trickling down his chin. The anger that he hid inside would not go away, and only grew like the flames in front of him. His tiny hands balled into fists, the anger readying itself for an extension, or perhaps, an exit. _

"_NOOOO!" he screamed, accidentally inhaling some of the toxins that were on fire inches from his tear-kissed cheeks. "Stop it!" he tried to yell, though he was temporarily over come by a coughing fit. He grimaced as his head was pushed further towards the glowing bin, the pages crumbling and burning right before his red and bloodshot eyes. "Please...," he whispered, closing his eyes tight, salty tears streaming uncontrollably down his distraught cheeks._

"_Aw, are you sad? I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO CRY!" the dark haired man shouted, seemingly at the top of his lungs, pushing young Severus straight into the flaming trash bin, knocking both over. "No son of my cries or did you forget? Are you that deft? You can remember those silly little spells but you can't remember anything I say? You are a disgrace to the Snape name, you nasty little git!" _

_The older Severus glared at his father, all the while remembering that the burning of that book was more painful than anything physical his father could have done to him. He watched silently as his younger self clawed desperately into the burning bin, not caring whether or not his hands got burnt. He was awestruck as a small voice to the side of him muttered, "Finite incendio," and the flames were extinguished. His eyes slowly wondered over to the doorway where his mother stood, dark curtains of hair threatening to cover the small twinge of light in her dark orbs. A small, almost unnoticeable smile crossed her thin lips, a mix of satisfaction and long lost happiness marking her features._

_In that moment, pride welled in the younger Severus' chest as what his mother was became clear in his eyes. He wanted to beam so badly at her, though the thought of his father standing but a few yards away lingered in the back of his jumbled mind. _

_He'd never once had the opportunity to see her cast a spell. He knew that his father had forbidden any such thing, his dislike of magic going back further than what Severus knew. He only remembered how many times his father had stated that it was a terrible thing, and that one's mind should not be wasted on something so worthless and imaginary. _

_Before the boy could even utter what he wanted to say, his father had swept across the room, tearing the wand out of his mother's hands. He watched in horror as she was shoved out of sight, the door slamming shut and locking from the outside. Tears continued to fall, though the only sounds he heard were his father yelling, his mother not making any sounds this time._

At long last, he felt like he was being pulled up, only to his dismay, he was back in another memory, one that he didn't realize he had set aside. His eyes wondered over the scene set in front of him, the image crystal clear and almost brilliant, if not for being so sad.

_It was night time, though no moon light was shining through his bedroom window. Rain was pouring down outside, thunder rumbling and lightning making its magical marks in the night sky. _

_The young Severus lay on his bed, once again staring out into the vast sea of the storm. A small, purple bruise graced his cheek as the lightning once again highlighted his bedroom. He did not jump, nor show any fear of the rain, like some children his age did. He embraced its dark beauty and longed to be outside, savoring it. What did make him jump was a quiet knock on his bedroom door. He stirred immediately from the fantasy and sat up, watching as a sliver of light caught his eyes and his mother's thin frame slowly came in. _

_For once, she was not shaking, nor trembling, or even looked afraid; all of which meant that either his father was already asleep, or he had left, like he'd been doing on a regular basis. Taking note of the small smile on her slightly aged features, he gave a timid smile back, scooting over to make room for her on his twin-sized bed._

"_I figured you'd still be up," she said, her voice quiet and calm, much more steady than it normally was. "I've got something for you, Severus," she stated, the smile growing a bit wider as she slowly sat down next to him, clutching an old wooden chest in her hands. Setting the chest down on the floor, she turned to him, he taking note of how young she actually looked when her face was not turned up in fear or littered with marks. "Lumos," she whispered as she pulled out her wand, the tip holding a faint glow; just bright enough to where he could see a small envelope in her other hand._

_Without a word, he took it, a look of surprise and curiosity spreading over his tired face. With slightly shaking hands, he carefully broke the red seal that was holding the envelope flap down, protecting its precious contents. His eyes widened as he saw was written on the crisp sheet of parchment._

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

Headmaster : ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confef. Of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Snape,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no longer than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

_The elder Severus could do nothing more than watch the scene, his eyes glistening in the din of the room. He had never felt such happiness since then._

"_But mum, isn't this the school you went to?" he asked excitedly, his hands shaking so bad that he had to set the letter down, due to fear of ripping it apart. The sudden joy slipped off his face as he a thought came to mind. "Father isn't going to let me go, is he?" he questioned sadly, his face falling downcast._

"_Your father and I...," her voice trailed off, her eyes growing distant in the faint light. "Look, Severus, I've already talked to your father and its been settled that you're going, whether he likes it or not." _

_He was surprised at how firm her voice was, he never hearing her use that tone before. He was quite shocked, but at the same time, the happiness slowly leaked back making him remember the letter that lay in his lap._

"_I'm really going to go? To Hogwarts?" he smiled once again, staring expectantly into his mother's eyes. _

"_Yes, you are. I've already sent back a reply." She became quiet, as though hesitant to continue her chain of thoughts. _

"_What is it, mum?" Severus asked, still staring at her with those same eyes, his hand slowly holding hers._

"_Well, Severus, you know we don't exactly have much money. I've been saving up because I knew this day would come, but I've only got enough to get you a new wand." She looked disappointed, rather in herself than in her son. He could see faint traces of tears in her eyes, and what looked like faded bruises on her cheeks. _

"_What's wrong with that?" he stared up at her, confusion lacing his features. _

_She studied him for a long moment before slowly pulling him close to her, burying her face in his dark head of hair. "Thank you, Severus," she whispered, willing herself not to cry._

"_For what?" he whispered back, saddened somewhat by her slightly quivering frame._

"_For not turning out like your father," the simple reply came quietly out of her lips. She squeezed him tighter then slowly pulled back. "I almost forgot. Here," she said quietly, leaning over and putting the forgotten chest in front of him. _

_He stared at her once again, unsure of whether or not he should open up the beautifully carved piece for fear of ruining it somehow. He ran his small, thin fingers over it, marveling at its aged elegance. She nodded at him, and he obeyed, carefully lifting the lid. A treasure of books lay before his obsidian eyes, and he knew that the ability to sleep would be rendered useless that night, the urge to tear into the books already nipping at his brain. It didn't matter to him if they were used or not, they were magnificent to him regardless. Without thinking, he threw his arms around his mother once more, taking in the scent of jasmine. _

"_Thanks, mum," he whispered, his head still buried in her shoulder. He could feel her tears hitting the back of his neck, but he said nothing more. _

The memory faded from view as he was pulled upwards, landing back in his office, a dumbfounded expression set upon his face. It had been ages since that night though he could still smell a hint of jasmine in the air. He was still for a moment, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. Looking back, that was perhaps the only happy memory he could conjure.

_No wonder I've forgotten it_, the sarcastic thought crossed his mind, a familiar sneer settling upon his face. _Now is not the time to get all sentimental, you silly sod!_ He pushed himself up from the floor, his eyebrows narrowing in the process as he settled back into his own skin. _You are no longer a meandering eleven year old with dreams of becoming the greatest wizard since Merlin, now are you?_ Before he knew it, he was pacing again, anger welling up once more. Though this time, he wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from.

Clenching his jaw, he bent down to retrieve the Pensieve, somewhat wearily as to make sure he would not somehow fall back in. He'd had enough of his childhood to remember for one night, and clearly did not need to be entertained by anymore. Rather roughly, he set it back on the desk, cursing silently to himself and something about the "old fool and his stupid ideas".

But before he could let out any more, a familiar sensation took over his left arm. The mark was burning.

* * *

Author's note : Well, what do you all think? Not my first try at fanfiction, but my first try at the Harry Potter fandom. I tried to make the letter of acceptance into Hogwarts look more authentic, but my computer wouldn't upload it the right way onto the site so I had to settle for what it appears to be now. Well, review and let me know how I've done. Thanks! 


	2. Failing Grace

**Title: Demons Haunting**

**Genre: Book/Movie**

**Category: Harry Potter**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own it. The precious rights belong to JKR. My apologies.**

**Summary : Potter knows his secrets now; and there's nothing he can do to stop the floodgates that have been opened. Snape centric.**

**Warnings: Mild language and violence (possibly graphic), as well as child abuse. You've been warned.**

**Rating : T **

**Chapter 2 : Failing Grace**

Within minutes, Snape had made his way down the school's front steps, heading for the gates that seemed so far away. He was sweating far more than he usually did, the heavy black uniform robes he wore doing little to change that fact. His hands were shaking, clutching the Death Eater mask to his side.

A fine mist was snaking its way over the grounds, literally clouding his vision. His mind raced, worried by the sudden call of the Dark Lord. As far as he knew, no meetings were scheduled for that night, at least, not one that he could remember anyway.

Grasping the iron gates, he muttered a charm, the lock unclicking at his request. Though at the moment his cold hands hit the even colder black steel, his mind froze, taking him back to a place he hadn't visited in quite some time.

_Rain was steadily pouring out of the clouds, pounding those who stood beneath. Not a student went unscathed in the heavens mercy, all were drenched by the time they had made it up to the castle, even the fortunate carriage riders. Though the first years had ultimately gotten the worst of it. But with a quick drying charm from a much younger looking Professor McGonagall, everyone seemed to be alright. Except for one of the first years._

_The young boy's black hair hung in two curtains around his thin face, highlighting the paleness of his skin. His eyes were dark and uninviting, containing more than their fair share of sorrow. He stood in the midst of all the other children as they filed into the Great Hall, the charmed ceiling casting images of the storm that was enveloping the night sky. Most of the first years were quite fascinated by the lightning show, but Severus stood still, taking stock of his surroundings._

_His gaze drifted over the four tables as the Sorting Hat's song began, sizing each one and the young individuals they held. He could tell by their appearances to which Houses they all belonged. After surveying those in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, his eyes fell upon the Slytherin table. Almost immediately, he knew where he belonged. He could sense something about the presence of those that sat before him. Each one had a concealed darkness that was hidden just below the surface. A small, satisfied smile befell his lips as his name was called to be sorted._

_At once, he felt a recluse shudder come over him. He hadn't been nervous in the least, but for some reason, it was as though he couldn't control it anymore. Beads of sweat littered his forehead, his slightly greasy hair starting to stick to his sallow skin. Clenching his jaw, he forced his small legs to move forward and up to the chair. He sat down carefully, only to land straight on the floor with a loud thud echoing through the Great Hall. Someone had pulled the stool out from underneath him; with a charm, no doubt. _

_Before he knew it, the silence of the Hall was shattered and laughter polluted it, ringing gravely in his ears. He could feel his face flush before he pushed himself to his feet._

"_SILENCE!" a voice boomed over the laughter, everyone shutting up immediately as though an off switch had been hit. _

_Severus looked in the direction of the voice, his eyes falling on an aging wizard with robes the color of the brightest emerald he had ever seen. A long, greying beard fell to just above his chest, his eyes glowering behind his half-moon spectacles. _

"_We do not tolerate such a thing at this school," he stated, his voice lowering to a less deafening volume and a softer tone. "Magic is not used for humiliation here. It is a tool that you will use to grow and learn, not to torture your fellow classmates." He stared out into the sea of surrounding faces, his blue eyes seemingly piercing all the souls who dared look at him. With one last glance, he seated himself again, this time keeping a more watchful eye amongst the tables. "Continue, Professor," he said, nodding at Professor McGonagall._

_She cleared her throat, giving her own scrutinizing glare among the children, certainly not as polite as the Headmaster, but it would suffice. _

"_Go ahead, dear," she urged the young boy, this time holding the stool in place as he sat down, more weary than before._

_His pale skin still had red blotches scattered about on his cheeks, but he refrained from taking notice and closed his eyes, the voice of the hat entering his ears._

"_Hmm, what to do with you? You're a tough one, aren't you?" it muttered, delving deep into the child's already protected mind. After a few minutes, it reached a decision. "So much darkness...no doubt...SLYTHERIN!" _

_But as the young Snape rose from the chair, he did not receive any applause from the Slytherin table that the other students had, not as he was expecting it anyway. He had not only embarrassed himself before all his classmates, but he'd also embarrassed his House as well. Needless to say, a warm greeting was not given. _

_He kept silent and took a seat near the end of the table, doing his best to keep the look of disparity off his face. He hadn't even been there ten minutes and had already made a fool out of himself. Surely his mother would be proud._

_'Go figure,' he thought, his eyes threatening to water, but he pushed back the tears, choking them down into the pool of despair. _

_His eyes narrowed as he realized someone had been watching him; three lads from the Gryffindor table, all first years. He clenched his jaw as he noticed they were stifling laughter as they continued to stare. One of them even went to far as to twirl his wand and point it directly as Severus, all the while flashing a toothy grin and a fake wink, his long dark hair falling about his face. _

_The humiliation that was blossoming settled itself deeper within his veins. Now he knew the culprits, and surely, revenge would be sweet, if he ever got the chance._

_His attention was immediately taken away from him as the Headmaster stood up, a gold chalice in one of his hands._

"_To all new students, welcome; to all returning students, welcome back. Let the feast begin." _

_And with that, large quantities of food appeared before them, all the children hungrily digging in except Severus, of course. His appetite was barely there to begin with, but with the Sorting Hat incident, it had completely vanished right into thin air. He sat there staring at his plate, not even touching any of the food that surrounded him. In fact, he felt more likely to vomit than to be able to eat._

_His eyes began to drift once more, his ears taking in all the chatter that crowded him. They fell back to the Gryffindor table, to the three boys who were obviously first years as well. Only now they were joined by a fourth who looked just as uncomfortable as him. He observed them carefully, not wanting them to take notice of his curiosity nor his lingering gaze._

_He was already going through hexes and charms in his head, trying to figure out which one he should retaliate against when a voice approached him from the side._

"_Severus Snape?" it questioned in a most eloquent tone, a finely manicured hand coming into view._

_Severus looked up at the tall blond boy to whom the hand belonged. His hair was a bright blond, almost white; his skin fair fitting with his complextion. His grey eyes sparkled in the torchlight of the room, defiantly questioning._

_Without waiting for a response, the older boy continued on. "Lucius Malfoy," he stated, shaking the small hand reached out to meet his. "I'm a prefect in Slytherin," he added, cutting the formalities of the handshake short and fingering his badge, his eyes aglare. "If you need anything, feel free to let me know." And with that, he disappeared back down the table, apparently quite popular judging by the amount of heads that turned as he walked past._

_Severus watched him for awhile, noting the boy's air of confidence and charisma. _

_'Surely a pure-blood,' the thought whisked its way through his brain, he becoming almost immediately ashamed of the fact that he wasn't. He knew pure-blooded children were more respected than the others, such as half-bloods like himself, making him wish that his mother had fallen for someone else. But surely he was just damned to live the life that he had. _

_He felt relief wash over him as the feast ended, he one of the first to stand to his feet. He followed his House out of the Great Hall, his eyes wandering over the groups of children that stood around him. He froze upon hearing a mispronunciation of his name, purposely, no doubt._

"_Snivellus Snape, that's got quite a nice ring to it," a voice remarked from behind, a few fits of laughter following after it._

"_My name is Severus," he corrected firmly, turning around to face his taunters, his eyebrows narrowing in anger. _

"_Well, I don't know about you three, but Snivellus sounds much better to me," the one that twirled his wand around joked, getting laughs from the other two and a hesitant smile from the uncomfortable looking one._

"_Well, well, if it isn't Sirius Black," a familiar voice came from behind young Snape. Everyone turned to see the Slytherin prefect approaching, a tight grin stretching across his lips. "I bet your mum thinks highly of you now, hmm? The first Gryffindor in the family. Such a shame really, to the family tree that is. Never thought there'd be a blood traitor in the Black family. As you can imagine, Bellatrix isn't amused."_

_The Gryffindor's face paled momentarily before he regained his voice, though before he could, the boy closest to him spoke up._

"_Malfoy, is it? Yeah, my dad told me all about you," he smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling. "How much did you pay to get into this school? After all the stories I heard, I didn't know they let Squibs in here."_

_That comment severed any form of calm that had been in the room. _

_Malfoy was quiet for a moment, his gaze growing heavier by the second. Upon seeing Professor McGonagall approaching, he bent down, making sure his comment was heard and understood by only the one it was meant for. _

"_If you think idiotic little formalities such as yourself Potter will really make a difference here at this institution, you stand corrected. One more word from your filthy little mudblood-loving mouth, and I'll curse you 'til your eyes fall out of their sockets. Have a nice day," he ended with a pleasant grin, casually turning and pulling Severus along with him. _

_The same small, satisfied grin eased its way onto Snape's features once more, stretching a bit as he glanced back at the small group; the one called Potter standing a bit wide-eyed and speechless, the one Lucius called Black not too far behind with a scowl on his face._

"_Filthy little twits...," Lucius muttered, draping his arm around Severus' back. "Come now, there's much I need to show you."_

That grin had started it all.

Snape's eyes widened as he realized where he was standing, his heart racing as he didn't know as to how long he had been standing there. The sudden blazing of his skin on his left forearm nearly made him blanch. Swearing under his breath, he stepped outside the gates, muttering the charm to relock them.

Within seconds, he was standing just outside the rickety old house, the cemetery mocking him from just beyond the gates.

Closing his eyes and hastily putting on the Death Eater mask, he dared try to compose himself as he hurriedly made his way up the cracked steps to the entry way of the house. He felt himself shudder, chastising himself from the inside out. Merlin only knew what was waiting for him down at the end of the hallway.

Unwillingly, his legs carried him the short distance, dread filling him as he opened the door to see a mere twenty masks turn his way.

He was late.

With his heartbeat ringing in his ears, he stepped forward over the threshold, the Dark Lord's voice softly wafting through the dank air.

"Severus, you're late," he chided casually, his voice as cool as the wind on a cold winter's night.

He hesitated, something he knew he shouldn't have done and mentally kicked himself for it; but it was too late, it had already been noticed.

"Perhaps you were just too busy to be on time tonight, is that right?" he questioned simply, his red eyes piercing through the darkness of the room. "Dumbledore keeping you on a tight leash?"

"No, my Lord—"

Before he had time to answer, the Dark Lord's voice cut him off, as cool and as calm as ever.

"Crucio."

He thought he'd gotten use to the pain by now, the feeling of a thousand sharp needles piercing his flesh, of his body giving his brain the illusion that it was on fire. But even after all that time, he hadn't. He collapsed to his knees in evident pain, though he fought it, biting his lip so hard that his mouth had become a bright scarlet shade in a matter of minutes.

Finally, the pain stopped.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he whispered through gritted teeth, his dark eyes dead ahead on the floor. As he reached out for Voldemort's robes to formally address his Master, another bout of pain enveloped him, the Dark Lord's voice resonating in his head.

"Oh, come now, Severus, it's not that bad, is it?" he mocked, smiling, his jagged teeth jutting out from between his lips.

Snape slowly shook his head as best he could through the curse, the hole in his soul deepening as each new wave of pain hit him. His eyes threatened to water as he carefully watched the Dark Lord walk around him, his head hung in thought. After a few more fleeting minutes, the pain ended, hardly any breath left in Severus' lungs.

"I'll deal with you later," he whispered dangerously in the Potions Master's ear. Turning away from the downed man, he addressed the circle that was gathered around him. "Now, the reason I called you all here tonight is simple. We are closer than ever to gaining the Prophecy, and if all goes as is planned, I shall be holding it in my hands very soon. However, that all depends on each and every one of you, and whether or not you're capable of fulfilling your duties. I shall take my reports now. Lucius?" he questioned, seemingly gliding along the floor to the blond Death Eater.

"My Lord," he said with a bow, his grey eyes drifting in Severus' direction. "Security is tight, but I believe I have found a _crevice_ in it," he stated with a devilish grin. "If everything goes accordingly, it will only be a matter of days before we are able to attain the Prophecy, My Lord."

"Very good, Lucius. I'm most impressed with your work." His tone was quiet yet it held underneath it a sickly malevolence oozing with evil. He turned quietly, slowly making his way around the circle. "Bella, have the arrangements been made?" he inquired, stopping in front of the demented Death Eater, her anxious gaze never leaving his side.

"Yes, my Lord," she answered confidently, her eyes gleaming expectantly through the horrific mask that covered her gaunt features. "I've taken all the necessary precautions, my Lord. Everything is set," she added, a deranged grin outlining her thin lips. Her faithfulness was inevitable, clearly marked upon her face, carefully embedded in her hollowed out orbs.

"Well done," the Dark Lord nodded, the lust for power clearly evident in his slitted red eyes. They danced over his followers, nearly sneering at the build up of fear the room contained. "You both have done remarkably well; but I advise all of you, the day is drawing near." He paused, letting his words settle in and his eyes do all the talking. "As soon as I receive the Prophecy, the power will be in my hands, and the boy shall be slain. But if you fail me...," his voice trailed off, vanishing into the shadows of the landscape.

"Never, my Lord. We shall be victorious this time. You have my word," Lucius stated with his usual air of confidence, his voice never faltering.

"Very well then. You are dismissed. Except you, Severus." His voice was cool and detached, never leaving the raven haired man for a moment. "Lucius, stay behind as well, though the corridor will better suit you," he commanded, waving the most dignified Death Eater out into the hallway.

Snape watched him carefully, lifting the walls in his mind and preparing for the worst. He retained his composure, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Though calmness won on the outside, his insides were ripping themselves to shreds, his stomach defiantly tying itself into knots.

"What kept you?" the hiss of a voice interrogated, just inches from his ears. The snakelike face was close to him now, so very close...

"I was working on the nourishing potions for you, my Lord. They would have been useless had I not stayed and finished them," he lied, cautiously constructing the complex walls around his mind. He painstakingly removed potions from inside his robes, forcing his hand to revert from shaking in the process. "Forgive me, my Lord. My intent was only for your benefit," he added, his grip loosening a bit on the slippery vials.

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, studying his obedient servant. If looks could kill, surely Snape would have seen his last in that stare.

Voldemort slowly took the glass vials, scrutinizing them intently. A sneer snaked its way across the dreadful Lord's face, his eyes glistening with what could only be called excitement.

"How considerate, Severus," he whispered, his scarlet orbs still entranced by the colorful liquid in the glass containers he was now squeezing tightly between his stick-like fingers. "Always so considerate...And so as a reward for your faithfulness... _Crucio_," he murmured coolly, letting the vials burst into pieces in his hands. He let the debris fall listlessly to the floor as he started pacing once more, letting Snape writhe on the cold, stone floor in agony.

"Now, Severus, I'm a bit curious as to why your last few currents of information have been slightly..._off_," he emphasized the last word, pain still seizing the Potions Master's helpless body. "You haven't had any second thoughts, have you?" he queried, releasing the spell for a few precious moments, Snape trying desperately to regain his now lost voice.

"My Lord--," he tried, but was cut off once more, pain seeking pleasure in him again.

"No, of course you didn't. In fact, you're one of my most faithful, aren't you, Severus?"

The questioned lingered through the air as he let Snape bask in the Cruciatus curse.

"I presumed so, but one must always double check." Voldemort fell nonvocal once more, a sardonic smile pressing up the corners of his mouth as though pleased by his actions. Afterall, causing pain was a specialty of his.

With a flick of the wrist, he ended the spell again, standing above the raven haired man who was trying to remove himself from the floor, fruitlessly, no doubt. Kneeling down, he grabbed the man by his hair in an uncharacteristic fashion, pulling his face within millimeters of his own.

"Do not..._fail_ me this time, Severus," he hissed, vengeance seeking his tone, his grip pulling tighter. "There is much at stake this time, and if something were to go wrong, I have only few to blame," he whispered evenly, patches of ebony hair starting to release through his fingertips and fall limply to the floor, the man they had belonged to fighting to keep upright. "_Dismissed_," the word sizzled from his mouth as he let Severus fall back to the floor before disappearing into the darkness of the room.

After several attempts, he got to his feet, his legs trembling underneath him. He could feel the blood oozing out of an open wound on his right leg, pain searing throughout it with each step. His heart beat pounded in his head as he picked the fallen Death Eater mask up off the floor, his gaze steadily falling upon the few droplets of blood that littered it. He glanced down at his leg to find it almost submerged in the red liquid, even his robes darkening as it too soaked up the crimson substance. Clenching his jaw, he made the seemingly long trek to the door, hardly having enough strength to push it open. His eyes fell upon Lucius who had obeyed his Master's orders, yet was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, longing for an escape.

Upon seeing the state that Snape was in, the blond Death Eater immediately went over to him, putting an arm around his thin waist for support.

Normally, one's touch would drive the hardened Potions Master into a stupor, but he was far too drained to care this time. He reluctantly let the other man hold him up, helping him outside the Riddle house, limping all the way.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Severus, but whatever it is, I advise you to stop it this instant," Lucius warned through a clenched jaw, dismayed at the sight of the amount of blood the other man was losing. "Though it's not any of my business, your tardiness is inconsistent with your usual punctuality. Care to elaborate?" he questioned, his steely grey eyes burning holes into the Potions Master's face.

"Frankly, Lucius, what I do in my own time is none of your business; and no, I care not to _elaborate_," he replied, the pain continuing to electrocute the nerves in his leg. "I'll be fine from here," he stated evenly as they reached the outside of the gates, regaining his usual overly independent manner, breaking away from the blond man's grasp.

"Though you may not take it into consideration, something has changed about you, Severus," Lucius commented, letting the raven haired man stand on his own, smirking at Snape's inability to retain his balance. "And whatever it is, I suggest you find out soon enough for your performance in there was unusually transparent and rather _unconvincing_," he let the words roll off his tongue, the smirk growing as he watched Severus' brow furrow.

"Thank you for that assessment, Lucius," he returned, his black eyes burning into the blond Death Eater's. "I shall remember your advice the next time I _perform_, as you say," he hissed, Apparating before the man had a chance to orally retaliate.

Before he knew it, he was back at the edge of the forest on his hands and knees, his leg faithfully giving out on him the minute he stood on solid ground. His onyx eyes darted around the vicinity, making sure no one else was in sight. He pushed himself up, his body teetering on the edge of fatigue, unwillingly obeying its brain's commands. His breath caught in his lungs, pain shooting through his side. He recoiled, doubling over and making contact with the chilly earth once again. Panting, he stood up once more, though he could not reach full height due to the pain that surged through his aching limbs.

The journey up the steps and down into the dungeons was most uneventful, minus the droplets of crimson that fell and streaked behind him. It wasn't as though this was the first time he had to almost crawl to his chambers, a thought that disturbed him more and more the closer he got to his rooms.

Closing in on the door, he muttered a charm and it unlocked quickly, long enough for him to enter, then recast the charm so he wouldn't be disturbed. He barely made it a few feet into the room before he slid down the nearest wall, all the while knowing the place he was at in his current condition would more than likely substitute as his bed as well.

Slowing his harsh breathing, he carefully pulled off the slightly tattered and bloodied robes, casting them aside into the unforgiving darkness. Pulling out his wand, he muttered, "Lumos," giving himself just enough light to see the damage done to his leg. A long, gaping cut wound its way down his calf, his life-saving substance finally starting to clot at the opening of the wound.

Gritting his teeth, he cast a simple cleansing charm, the blood quickly disappearing, though the pain quietly stayed behind. He surveyed the rest of his deteriorating form, knowing that the ribs would have to heal on their own regardless, and a concealing charm could handle the rest.

In the midst of the night's events, he'd hardly had time to remember the exact explanation why he was late and the reason why he was in the state that he was. He'd almost fooled himself into thinking the potions statement was true, though he knew it not to be. It was just another lie he told himself to get by.

He glared down at his battered form, secretly longing for the fire whiskey he'd misplaced some time ago. But it was no use. Every time he moved, pain was at his side, becoming his constant best friend; and his attempts at breathing normally were starting to be a chore in itself. He sighed silently, leaning his head back against the cool wall.

He'd really done it this time.

He was never late, ever; no matter what he was doing. If the Dark Lord called, he was supposed to be there, Dumbledore's orders. And he was to follow those at all cost, no matter the consequences, but instead, he was transported back to a magical land he dared call Hell. He had no explanation for the unexpected flashback; and that frightened him more than anything.

What if he had suddenly lost control of his Occlumency skills and was now vulnerable to an attack?

_No, that's not possible. He wouldn't have let me go like that had he known I was lying._

Questions jolted his already clouded mind, and to his dismay, he couldn't answer them. Running a hand through his slightly blood-coated and greasy hair, he came across a spot where there was none there, wincing as his fingertips grazed the tender spot. He could feel the crimson substance matted in his hair, only making him feel even more dirty than usual. He sneered in spite of himself, not even feeling the least bit tired; mentally. Physically was a whole other equation.

He was drained, having only a mere hour or two of rest from the previous day. Everything was sore, from his arms to his feet, though no complaints would ever grace his lips. He'd keep it inside, as with everything else that was troubling him.

His dark eyes lazily drifted to the clock that hung on the opposite wall, the time reading _3:04_. A sardonic cackle escaped his still blood encrusted mouth, knowing all the while he would be teaching a class full of incompetent little brats, on top of dealing with that dreadful Umbridge woman in just a few hours. No, perhaps Hell was what he was living in now.

He shook his head, knowing full well that he'd more than likely be questioned in the morning as to why he was out so late and where he had gone. And of course, he'd give the likely excuse that he had certain ingredients that needed to be picked at just the right time and if that blasted woman wanted him to make any other potions, then he'd leave the castle to do so at any time he wished. Secretly, he longed for Dumbledore's return. The next few months would obviously not go as he first planned.

And getting a hold of Dumbledore would be another complication. With the delusional woman setting up watches and guards and various other means to spy on everyone, just breaching her damned security would be a complexity in itself. He sighed, knowing a trip to Twelve, Grimmauld Place would be impending.

As though he wanted to see that damned Black character again.

He closed his eyes, fatigue wearing thin on his senses. Everything was crashing down on him at once, and if he wasn't careful, he would indeed break. Soon.

_Thick clouds painted the afternoon sky, ranging in colour from greys to blues, sprinkling the grounds with a light mist. It was a gorgeous sight to all those that were permitted to see it, though others had potions classes in the dungeons to attend to. _

_Rushing along and not understanding how he had lost track of the time between periods, first year Severus made his way through the long corridor leading to the dungeons, his over-filled backpack in tow. He had almost made it to the door when he heard a ripping sound and then watched in agony as his books fell to the floor. _

_Swearing under his breath, he bent down to pick them up, only to knock into something else. _

"_Ow," he muttered, rubbing his head and looking up at the object he had bumped into. _

"_Sorry," a red haired girl apologized, just a tad taller than himself. The object, apparently, was a girl. _

"_'S all right," he murmured, his eyes falling on the Gryffindor symbol that graced her robes._

"_That's quite a heavy load you've got there," she commented, helping him pick up all the books. "Plan on finishing early?"_

"_Early?" he asked, a confused expression tracing his features. "What do you mean?"_

"_Well, it looks like you've got nearly twice as many classes as the rest of the first years. Though I don't understand why. You must be really smart," she said, picking up the last book, her emerald eyes meeting his for the first time._

_He nearly gaped, taking in her innocent beauty. He stuttered a bit before his reply followed. _

"_I just want to be prepared is all," he stated, standing to his feet, immediately noticing the height difference. _

"_Prepared? For what? You act as though there's a war onor something." She studied him for a moment before realizing the door to the class was open, a short, round man looking down at the both of them. _

"_Miss Evans, Mr. Snape," he nodded towards them, acknowledging their presence. "Care to join the rest of us? We'll be studying very interesting things today. I'm quite positive it's something you won't want to miss," he added with a smile, ushering them in._

_Snape watched as she took her seat, not even two yards away from the trouble makers who had been causing him headache after headache for the past week. He scowled, eying them. _

_'She's a Gryffindor! A bloody Gryffindor! What are you thinking?' he mentally berated himself, ignoring Professor Slughorn's instructions and starting on the potions assignment. He found his wondering eyes traveling back to her direction. _

_He couldn't figure out why he hadn't noticed her before. Though it had only been a week since term had begun, he should have seen her before, shouldn't he? But then again, his mind was focused on studying, not on girls._

_She was quite pretty though, beautiful even. And apparently highly intelligent too by the way she was busying herself with the assigned work, not even paying attention to her surroundings. She was doing everything just the way Severus was doing it, though when he heard one of the trouble maker's voices enter his ears, his attention span was temporarily cut short._

"_Hey, Lilly, looks like you've got a watcher. Ol' Snivellus there can't take his eyes off you," the one called James announced, beaming at Severus' reddening face._

_She shot him a curt smile and rolled her eyes, going back to her work, doing her best to ignore the boy that would be her husband someday._

_James own face flushed at the rejection, only giving him more fuel for an attack. _

"_You know Snivellus, you should really pay attention to the instructions. Just one little slip...," he smiled mischievously, his eyes flashing before he returned to his own cauldron. _

_Severus' brow furrowed as it normally did when the Potter boy was near, trying his best to ignore his taunts. But just as he added a dusting of regan leaves, a great cloud of purple smoke blew out of his cauldron, his assignment gone to pieces. He turned slowly and found the rest of the class' eyes on him, some amused, some afraid, and a few snickering. He scowled at James and Sirius, then noticed the empty glass vial in Sirius' hand. Infuriated couldn't even begin to describe the emotion that was flooding through his veins. _

_Revenge could be so sweet. If he ever got the chance._

* * *

**Well, what do you think? I'm trying. Please review and let me know. I can't wait to delve deeper into Snape's memories. Thanks!**


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